


Mystery Revealed

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Comforting Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mystery Spot, Sad Sam, broment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story begins with the final moments of S3E11 and follows the boys on the road out of Broward County. Dean knows Sam hasn't told him everything that happened at the Mystery Spot and eventually, he gets it out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystery Revealed

**Author's Note:**

> It always killed me Sam never told Dean that he had to live without him for 6 months. I decided to put that story into words, though it came out much differently than I had expected. It's a pretty sad one, but then, it was a pretty sad episode and the boys had some heavy stuff looming on their horizon.  
> Unbetaed.

     “Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?” Dean was startled by the ferocity of Sam’s hug. He tried to take the edge off with his usual touch of humour. Sam didn’t seem to be having any of it.  

     “Enough.” He said simply, barely. Dean could hear the strain in voice. His brother was _actually_ shaking, and holding him so tightly it bordered on crushing. Dean’s mind was racing, wondering what those Tuesdays must’ve been like to do this to Sam. 

     Sam weakly cleared his throat and reluctantly let Dean go, stepping back. His voice was raw when he spoke next. “What, uh, what do you remember?”

     “I remember you were pretty whacked out of it yesterday.” Understatement. Dean hadn’t been riding the same train as his brother all day. Sam kept going on about being stuck in some kind of time loop and didn’t even have the patience to really explain anything to Dean, leaving him instead to feel like he was playing a game of seriously disadvantaged catch up. “I remember getting mixed up with the Trickster. That’s about it.”

     Dean watched his brother nod slowly, clearly thinking through whatever in his head. He still looked like he’d been right through the ringer, bewildered and shaken up in a way Dean wasn’t sure he’d seen him before. Sam took a deep breath as if to steady himself and Dean’s concern gripped a little tighter at his chest.

     When Sam looked at his brother again the relief starting to bloom in his eyes was tangible. “Let’s go.”

     “No breakfast?” Dean easily slipped into the tone of their usual banter, giving Sam an incredulous look. Sam chuckled knowingly.

     “No breakfast.”

     Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, smirking a little. He figured he’d give Sammy this one. “All right, I’ll pack the car.”

     “Wait, you’re not going anywhere alone,” Sam’s voice was laced with panic. His face lost some of its colour almost instantly and he grabbed at Dean’s arm looking very serious. Dean couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at his brother, looking from his face to the hand on his arm and back again.

     “It’s the parking lot, Sam.” He couldn’t hold back the somewhat incredulous look he blinked at his brother, eyebrows raised and eyes wide with disbelief.

     “Just - just trust me.” The corner of Sam’s mouth went up in a half-hearted smile, but Dean could see straight through it. He knew when he shouldn’t push his brother just as well as he knew when he could. So, he shrugged in compliance and went to sling his duffle onto his shoulder. Sam had sat back down on the edge of his bed and was throwing the last of his things into his bag while Dean lingered by the opened door to their motel room.  He watched his brother with narrowing eyes. Sam looked so out of it, absentmindedly packing his things as if he were in another place entirely.

     “Hey, you don’t look so good. Something else happen?” Translation: _something else you’re not telling me_. Dean tried to be gentle in his questioning. Talking it out wasn’t usually his thing. But it was Sam’s. And while Dean wasn’t sure what to do with it, he figured if the situation were reversed Sam would be asking him. Dean would try whatever if it meant helping Sam to stop looking the way he did right now, which was, without a doubt, the cause of the growing ache behind Dean’s ribs. Sam didn’t answer him right away.

     “I just had a really weird dream.” His voice was quiet when he did answer. Weak, even. Dean nodded. He couldn’t read the cues. Wasn’t sure if asking about it meant forcing his brother to re-live whatever happened, or what. He shifted a moment at the door before deciding to switch to something more familiar, to let Sam take the lead from here.

     “Clowns or midgets?” It wasn’t difficult for him to grin at his baby brother. But when Sam looked over at him, trying unsuccessfully to smile back, Dean almost faltered. Sam turned away and grabbed his bag, finally standing. Dean took the moment’s head start and stepped out of the motel room, unable to shake the growing sense of worry that hadn’t stopped since Sam had grabbed him. He listened for the sound of Sam closing and locking the motel door behind him before he started for the Impala, Sam just a step behind.

\------

     Sam had been quiet and withdrawn since they left Broward County three days ago. He wasn’t responding much to Dean’s attempts at conversation, so Dean had been letting him keep to himself despite his own persistent worry. It was another day on the road and another day of mostly silence. Occasionally, Dean looked over at his brooding brother. For the last few hours Sam, giant that he was, was still somehow curled up in the farthest reaches of the front seat, facing away from him. It went without saying that Dean knew him. Knew him so well that, after watching him his whole life, he didn’t need to see Sam’s face to know that Sam was still working through whatever things he’d left unsaid about all that happened at the Mystery Spot. He was certain Sam wasn’t sleeping, but that just meant he was on an edge and somewhere far, far away from Dean. Somewhere much farther than the other side of the car.

     Dean shifted behind the wheel. It had been hours since Sam had spoken last. While it wasn’t unusual for bouts of silence to hang between them on long drives, but Sam wasn’t just not talking. He was distant. It made Dean think about what he was like right after Jessica died, but it was different. Maybe it was worse. He couldn’t put his finger on it. So yeah, Dean was worried. And after days of little sleep and a knotted stomach, his concern could not be quietly contained for another minute. He saw a sign ahead for a gas station and what was sure to be a dumpy excuse for a diner and made the executive decision that it was time to fuel up.

     As Dean slowed the Impala and pulled off into the empty dirt parking lot of ‘Frank’s Fuel & Food’ he noticed Sam did not budge. He put the car in park and stopped the roar of the engine abruptly, turning towards Sam in his seat. He almost went right off, his worry manifesting as agitation and frustration. But all it took was a glance at his little brother slumped over in his place to reign it all in. Dean’s worry had outgrown his capacity to let Sam be; when Sam was like this, it brought out the softness in Dean. It made him the same big brother who’d spent his own childhood protecting and comforting Sam, fighting off his bullies or rocking him back to sleep after bad dreams. He sighed.

     “C’mon, Sammy…” He said it as gently as he could, trying not to sound angry. He wasn’t angry. Well, not with Sam. But when Sam was hurting and it wasn’t something Dean could fix with his gun, salt, or some punches… He always felt helpless. “Please.”

     There was a rustle as Sam finally acquiesced and pushed himself forward and upright with a small sigh. He still had his head tilted down, deliberately not looking at his brother.

     “Listen, Sammy… You gotta, uh, you gotta talk to me. I’m…I mean, what happened, man? What aren't you’re not telling me?” It wasn’t really a question so much as an admission that Dean knew his brother was keeping something from him. Dean groaned inwardly, irritated at himself for sputtering through that so ineptly. He was desperate to help Sam climb out of this but hated that he couldn’t find the words. He hoped he wasn’t saying the wrong thing.

     Now Sam’s teeth were working tensely on his lower lip and he’d started letting his thumbs run over his fingers as his hands sat on his lap. “Dean, I...” He shook his head and exhaled roughly. “I don’t know. I don’t. I haven’t been able to shake this. I’m afraid...” he paused, and took another deep breath. “I’m afraid saying it will make it more real. Make it real again.”  His voice was low, and a bit husky from being out of use. It cut right through his brother, whose own heart was thudding anxiously in his chest. Then Sam looked at Dean.

     His eyes were raw, and more than a little red. His eyelashes were dark and pulled together by remnants of tears, though he wasn’t crying at the moment. Dean felt like the wind was knocked out of him. He never did well seeing Sammy this way. He wondered how long or how often Sam had been choking that down over the last few days as he’d sat next to Dean in the car. Sam let out a ragged breath, obviously trying to keep it together.

     “I don’t know what to do with this, Dean.”

     “Hey, whoa, little brother…” Dean impulsively moved a bit closer to Sam as he answered. “Why don’t you just, uh, just tell me what happened. Maybe…” He let his right hand find Sam’s closest shoulder and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Maybe it’ll help you let it go.”

     Dean had put on his best brave face, and gave Sam an encouraging smile. On the inside he was shaken up, too. While he knew Sam was a grown - well, overgrown - man, when he saw him like this and couldn’t separate him from the little boy who’d come to him when he was a mess missing their dad, or after falling with scrapes on his hands and knees needing Dean’s attention.

     Sam looked up at the roof of the Impala desperately, his hands still fidgeting on his legs.

     “I uh, lost track of the Tuesdays, Dean. So many times I had to watch you die, helpless to stop it. I was already at the end of my… I didn’t know how much more I could…” He blinked a few times, clearly trying to fight the memories. Dean watched him in growing agony. He tried to imagine if the situation were reversed. He’d already watched Sam die, held him in his arms, had to sit and contemplate his failure over his lifeless body. And it had _wrecked_ him. He couldn’t imagine going through it over and over again.

     “But then we found the Trickster and,” Sam rubbed the heel of one hand into his eye. He took a strong breath, finding some control. “When we found the Trickster he swore he’d let us go... that I’d wake up and it would finally be Wednesday. And he did. It was. I was so relieved, Dean. It was finally…” He trailed off a moment, cleared his throat. “You went to pack the car, and I stayed to finish with my things in the room. A few minutes later, there’s a gunshot. I’m out the door and with you in a heartbeat and I... I, uh…” He started to slip again. His voice was getting more strained. “I held you in my arms as you bled out with a bullet in your chest. That goddamn Trickster! It was supposed to be fixed! But then…”

     Dean had been listening intently to his brother, waiting for the parts of the story that would be new to him. The distance between them had gotten smaller, and Dean still had his hand on Sam’s shoulder. When the silence stretched on, he gave another squeeze to get Sam to continue. When Sam looked back at him, he was crying in earnest.

     “I didn’t wake up. I didn’t wake up, Dean! The day didn’t restart. You were really gone. I mean, really dead. You died, and,” Sam was spilling it out now, hurried and rushed by the sobs he was fighting down that kept catching in his chest. “Six months. Six _months_  I was alone. Hunting that son of a bitch and trying, uh, trying everything to get to him. So he would fix it. You were dead. Six months. For six months and I, uh, -” he was not in control anymore. He had lost the battle against his cries and looked away from Dean in frustration, his fingers gripping tightly into his legs.

     Dean could barely keep it together himself. _Six.. Six months? He’d been gone for six months? And Sam… Sam had had to hunt the Trickster on his own… He could’ve…_ His thoughts were racing as he grappled with getting his head around what all that must’ve meant for Sam. Time had somehow reset itself but his little brother was forced to hold on to those memories as if they were as real as any others... That same little brother who was sobbing as silently as he could manage in the seat next to him.

     “Ah, Sammy…” Dean barely said it above a whisper as he brought his arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him in without any resistance. Just like that, Sam was 8 years old again with his face cradled between Dean’s shoulder and neck, his tears dampening Dean’s shirt, and his brother’s arms tucking him in best they could, given that they were sitting side by side in the Impala’s front seat. Dean brought one hand up to push into his eyes for a moment and let his chin sit on Sam’s head. It was all he could do to steel himself against the muffled, broken sounds of his baby brother.

     It wasn’t something Dean could fix. He couldn’t undo what happened. He couldn’t erase those lonely months from Sam’s memory. But he understood now why Sam had been so messed up by what happened. All the things they’d seen and done and survived, and shit kept getting less and less believable. It was all kinds of crazy and all kinds of cruel.

     Dean wanted to say something. His instinct was to remind Sam that he was there, and that he wasn’t going anywhere... That he would never, ever leave him. Those were the only words he could find, and they were false and hollow. His clock _was_ ticking. He’d made that bed and he was going to have to sleep in it. He would, in the end, leave Sam. And that end was rushing closer with each passing day.  He couldn’t bring himself to say them. Instead he let Sam let it out, hugging his brother to him like when they were kids, trying not to think of anything past that moment, trying not to think of what Sam would be like when he was gone, and who would hold him then.

 


End file.
